


The Case of the Mysterious April Antics

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, there's a holiday that Cas does not want to participate in. Unfortunately, neither he nor Dean has any choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Mysterious April Antics

**Author's Note:**

> ... I can't believe I wrote this much in less than a week! Holy shit. I need to make a calendar with big marks for holidays or something so this doesn't happen again. Kudos to Zirra for putting me on the right train of thought for this fic. A comment she made gave me an idea ;D

“Y'know, Cas, my favorite holiday is in like two days.”

 

Dean and Cas are at the grocery store, in the aisle heavy laden with smells of herbs and coffee. Despite the fact that the weather's warming up, Cas is still wearing an oversized sweater. Dean was at least able to talk him into a thinner one, but he's pretty sure he's going to have to stage a sweatervention soon.

 

Cas has two boxes of tea in his hands and has been looking back and forth between them for at least a minute, trying to choose one or the other. After another moment he finally just places them both in the cart.

 

“I am aware,” Cas says absently, pushing the cart onward to the coffee. He picks the brand Dean likes best without hesitating, drops it in the cart and moves on. In the back of Dean's head, he still can't get over the fact that in his whole life, he's never gotten groceries to last any longer than two days, tops. Ever since Cas, they go grocery shopping once every week and a half and stock their fridge, their shelves. It's kind of trippy.

 

“Well – I mean, shit, aren't you excited?” Dean's fully aware that his angel is an addict, shoots up holidays like they're heroin. A new holiday three weeks after the last one? Cas should be ecstatic, asking Dean if they make decorations for April Fool's Day or whether there are things he can bake for it. The fact that Cas hasn't even mentioned it is pretty weird. Dean assumed Cas just didn't know about it. Apparently not.

 

Cas does not reply and instead turns the corner of the aisle, going down the next. He grabs a box of Fruity Pebbles – Dean's favourite – and some Cheerios for himself. Dean clears his throat, fighting irritation. He's not a man who reacts well to being ignored. Cas frowns.

 

“I don't wish to celebrate this one, Dean,” Cas says evenly, studiously avoiding Dean's eyes as he apparently scans the shelves for something. Dean's eyebrows raise and his expression is nothing short of incredulous.

 

“Who are you and what have you done with Castiel?”

 

Cas looks up at Dean and tilts his head, furrowing his brow. “I am Castiel,” he says, and there is clearly honest concern in his tone. Dean groans.

 

“It's a figure of speech, I know you're – Jesus, Cas, this is a _holiday_ we're talking about. And one of the only ones I actually know shit about. What's your deal?”

 

Cas finally meets Dean's eyes and sighs, looking suddenly quite weary. Dean's a little caught off guard by this, and he almost regrets his question. He's not sure why, exactly, though.

 

“This is one of the very few holidays we celebrated in heaven,” Cas says, hands gripping tight on the handle of the shopping cart, “My brother, Gabriel, invented it. I... do not like the idea of it in his absence.”

 

Sometimes Dean forgets that all the feathery, heavenly douchebags he's dealt with in the past two years were actually Castiel's family once. This includes Gabriel, the trickster who killed Dean perpetually hundreds of times... and the angel who gave up his life for Team Free Will. Dean swallows hard.

 

“I'm, uh, sorry, Cas. I didn't know.”

 

Cas seems to snap out of whatever memories were playing in his head when he hears Dean's words. He smiles a tiny, hesitant smile and puts an awkward hand on Dean's shoulder.

 

“It's okay. As it were, I was never fond of the holiday. Very few angels participated in the pranking and very many were the ones being pranked.”

 

“I take it you weren't one of the prankers.”

 

Cas shakes his head ruefully.

 

“Gabriel once got oil in my wings. It was there for a week.”

 

Dean chuckles. “Right. No April Fool's Day, then. Got it.” Dean seals the deal with a kiss, causing a woman passing by to clear her throat. Dean notes absently that she's their neighbor from down the street, and presses a hand to Cas' cheek just to exacerbate the woman's discomfort.

 

To be honest, Dean's a little bummed that he has to skip out on the one holiday he's good at, but Cas deals with more than his fair share of Dean's baggage – giving up April Fool's Day is the least Dean can do in return. Plus, he can still send Sam pranks in the mail. Sam and Sarah are on holiday in Canada, doing the whole stereotypical couple-in-love-thing and going to Niagara Falls. Dean will make sure a package without a return address is waiting for his little brother when he gets home.

 

*

 

“Don't be too hard on Cas with the pranks, Dean. Seriously. This holiday isn't all warm and fuzzy like the other ones. You might hurt his feelings.”

 

Dean's on the phone with Sam while he rummages through the fridge and pulls out the ingredients to make a sandwich. Cas is out... buying candles. Cas has a thing for candles like he has a thing for aprons and stupid oversized sweaters. Dean's not sure exactly how to tell Cas that with the sheer number of candles they have all over the house, any visitors they might have would probably assume they're having very romantic sex on a regular basis. Thankfully, they never have any visitors and Dean couldn't give less of a shit anyway.

 

“We're not doing April Fool's Day,” Dean says, slathering his bread with mayonnaise, “Cas is all depressed that the king of pranks, Gabriel, is all charred-wings-on-the-floor on the holiday he practically invented. So we're skipping out on this one.”

 

“Oh, Cas,” Sam says, and he can hear Sammy going into complete chick mode. Dean swears that if Cas gets a sympathy card in the mail or something, he's gonna punch his brother square on the jaw.

 

“Don't 'oh, Cas', Sammy. He's a badass, he's fine.” Dean doesn't like what Sam's tone indicates, like Cas is weak or something. Dean totally gets what it's like to lose a brother (though, thankfully, he got him back), so he's feeling sort of defensive. Angel mojo or not, Cas is still pretty awesome and kinda scary when he wants to be. He doesn't want Sam to get the wrong impression.

 

… Plus, Cas is always the one who opens the jar of jam when it gets stuck.

 

“I know, I know,” Sam rushes to clarify, “I just... I can't imagine what I'd do if I lost you, and I never thought about how Cas has lost so many of his brothers, and he can't – ”

 

Dean hears the front door close and the rustling of shopping bags, and he cuts the conversation short.

 

“Hate to cut in on your epiphany or whatever the hell it is you're doing over there, but Wings just got home and this just got awkward.”

 

“Wings?” Sam asks, and Dean scowls.

 

“Oh my god, Sam, it's not like a pet name, don't make it weird.” Dean growls. It's true; he's never actually called Cas that out _loud_. It's sort of a mental nickname or something.

 

“Dean? I need your input before I place these candles,” Cas calls from the other room.

 

“Coming! One sec,” Dean chirps, and he can hear Sam laughing his ass off on the other end of the line.

 

“Whipped,” he snickers.

 

“Shut _up_ , Sammy.”

 

“' _Coming!'_ ” Sam mimics in a voice way to high to be Dean's, “You sound like a housewife.”

 

“Dean?” Cas calls uncertainly from the other room.

 

“Hanging up now, Sam,” Dean says, and clicks the phone shut. He leaves his half-made sandwich on the counter in favor of going to the living room. It already smells awesome and he hasn't even lit any yet. Dean chooses to ignore the sheer _number_ of candles Cas has come home with, raising his eyebrows but saying nothing.

 

“I'm afraid my enthusiasm lacked foresight,” Cas says sheepishly, “I'm not sure where to put them. Most of the surfaces are already covered.”

 

Dean can't help but laugh. “We'll put some of the old ones away first.”

 

Cas nods. “Agreed. And I don't think there are any in the bathroom yet.”

 

Dean's mind plummets to the gutter in about 3 seconds flat. He clears his throat, breaks eye contact with Cas and sets about plucking some of the older candles from their places on various shelves.

 

“That's _weird,_ Cas,” he says, “no one does that.” The odd tone of his voice is not lost to Cas.

 

“I don't understand,” he says, tilting his head slightly.

 

Dean sighs. This is a phrase he hears very often. After a beat of silence, he decides to explain.

 

“People put candles and shit in their bathroom when they intend to have sex in there, Cas.”

 

Cas' eyes widen and his eyes quickly dart to all the candles in the room. Dean quickly clarifies.

 

“No – shit, Cas, it's fine to have them out here. Just not in the damn bathroom.”

 

Dean can see how tense Cas' shoulders have become, the unsure expression on his face. Dean softens his tone, crosses the distance between them to put a reassuring hand on Cas' arm.

 

“Seriously, Cas, it's fine. I like the candles.”

 

Cas smiles hesitantly.

 

“They smell good,” Cas says, as though weakly, unnecessarily defending them.

 

“They're awesome,” Dean agrees, and presses a kiss to Cas' forehead.

 

“Have you eaten?” Cas asks, abandoning the bag of candles on the couch and heading to the kitchen. He catches sight of Dean's half-made sandwich on the counter and finishes making it for Dean, who leans on the doorway and thinks about how friggin awesome his life has become.

 

*

 

Dean hasn't hunted a wendigo in years, and he's more than grateful to have backup this time around. They're ugly sons of bitches with even uglier attitudes, and he'd hate to have to gank it alone. It doesn't help that the campers they set out to rescue thought Dean and Cas were insane and took a stupid long amount of time to realize they weren't. They smell like the woods, sweat and fire by the time they're done. Dean groans at the idea of filling the Impala with their awful scent, but it's not like she isn't used to worse.

 

They drive for a while in silence, save for the gentle thrum of Kansas in the background, both bone tired and a little sleepy. Dean yawns and it's contagious, because a second later, Cas yawns too.

 

“I'm sorry, Dean,” Cas says eventually, looking out the window as trees and houses whiz by. Dean raises an eyebrow and lowers the music.

 

“For what?”

 

“For taking your holiday from you. It was... selfish.”

 

Dean laughs at this, clamps a hand on Cas' shoulder.

 

“Dude, it's not that serious. Promise,” he assures him.

 

“You're certain?”

 

Dean nods, adjusts the music til it's a little louder. “If it was, I would have said something. I don't really care about holidays unless you do.”

 

“Thank you, Dean.”

 

Dean moves his hand until it lays between them, and Cas laces their fingers together. His brains screams _chick flick moment!_ but he ignores it. He likes Cas' hands and he likes them even better when they're in his. If that makes him a little sappy... well, it's not like anyone's around to see.

 

*

 

Dean's been sleeping in Cas' bed every night ever since St. Patrick's Day. There wasn't any official transition; it was just silently, mutually accepted that the first invitation to stay in bed was not _just_ for that night. It beats the couch, for sure, which is where Dean had been sleeping before. They'd had a terrible argument about who sleeps where when they'd first moved in, but Dean, being the stubborn man that he is, won. The place is too small for two beds to fit comfortably.

 

They usually go to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, but Dean always wakes up with his limbs all tangled up with Cas'. He's not sure which one of them is the subconscious cuddler, but he really, _really_ hopes it's not him. Cas has already made so much of a chick out of him that he's not sure if he can take the knowledge that he's the one who initiates the snuggling while they're sleeping. His manliness is tragically at risk.

 

The night before April Fool's Day, after they've crawled into bed and turned off the light, Cas wraps an arm around Dean's waist and pulls him close. Dean squints at him in the darkness, looking surprised. Cas is not given to indulging impulses. Cas presses his forehead against Dean's. Dean can't really see Cas' expression, but he's pretty sure he's smiling.

 

Dean waits for Cas to say something, but he doesn't. It's really weird and slightly unnerving. Several minutes pass, and Dean is suddenly aware that Cas has fallen asleep. He decides not to question it, and soon falls asleep himself.

 

*

 

When Dean wakes up, Cas is still clinging closely to him. He yawns and stretches, then looks around -

 

and gasps.

 

“Cas – what the hell?”

 

Cas makes a noise in protest, still half-asleep, but he complies and sits up as well. His eyes go wide as saucers as he takes in what has taken Dean so aback. He looks at Dean abruptly, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Dean, did you – ”

 

“Nice going, Cas! And you had me fooled with all this 'I don't wanna celebrate April Fool's Day' crap. Gotta give you points for creativity, man, but you're totally helping me clean this up.”

 

The room is covered in wrapping paper. Everything, every object, is wrapped tight like a Christmas present. Their couch, the couch cushions, hell, their _coffee table_ – all are wrapped up. Every candle is blown out and wrapped and there are a friggin lot of them. The wrapping paper is covered in creepy looking jesters. The only thing not wrapped is the bed they sleep in.

 

“I didn't do this,” Cas says quietly, but Dean's already out of bed, smiling cheerfully at Cas' supposed holiday spirit.

 

Cas is clearly unnerved as he follows Dean to the kitchen, but Dean doesn't notice. He goes about making his coffee as Cas boils water for his tea.  His brow is furrowed, as though he is in deep thought.  He sits at the kitchen table and takes a deep sip of tea before clearing his throat abruptly and grimacing tremendously as he swallows.

 

“Dean,” he says warily, “Why are there soap flakes in my teabag?”

 

It's Dean's turn to look confused. He takes his cup of coffee to the table and sits opposite Cas. His look of confusion lasts for all of ten seconds, though, and then he grins.

 

“Dude, Cas, your sense of humor is seriously improving. I see what you're doing.” Dean takes a drink of his coffee and then coughs and spits it all over the table. Cas tilts his head, perplexed.

 

“Not cool, Cas,” Dean says. “You don't come between a man and his coffee.”

 

“I didn't,” Cas says flatly.

 

“Right, and my coffee just magically tastes like liquorice on its own, then?”

 

Cas frowns and takes hold of Dean's cup. He takes a tentative sip of it and makes a face. He stares down into the dark cup before placing it on the table. He looks up and makes direct eye contact with Dean.

 

“You're not doing this, are you?”

 

Dean does a double take. “No. And neither are you, are you?”

 

Cas needs no further confirmation; he stands from his chair immediately and grabs Dean's arm, tugging him upward as well. He leads Dean from the kitchen and pulls both Dean's jacket and his own trench coat from their coat rack.

 

“What the hell?” Dean protests, though he doesn't hesitate in putting on his jacket.

 

“Someone broke into our house last night, Dean. I'm not doing this and neither are you. This is a serious matter. Sam is in Canada and we have no immediate friends in the area. Can you think of even one person who might go to these extremes to prank us?”

 

Dean thinks for a moment, but finally shakes his head.

 

“I didn't think so,” Cas says, “neither can I. We can only assume that whoever – or whatever – it is that's doing this may wish us harm. Breaking and entering is nothing to be taken lightly.”

 

Dean nods, gets into hunter mode mentally. Cas is right; this reeks of the supernatural. The kind of meticulous wrapping shown in their living room in itself seems inhuman; it's all too perfect, too thorough. And then there's the question of how someone could get pass one seasoned hunter and one former-angel without waking either of them.

 

Dean heads for the Impala, but Cas shakes his head.

 

“They might have done something to it.”

 

Dean's look is instantly deadly, and he darts over to his baby like she's wounded. Cas frowns, but follows without hesitation. Dean circles the car, peers in the windows and checks the tires. He pops the hood, but everything within is also in check. He opens the door to the drivers seat and looks inside.

 

“What the _fuck?_ ” he hisses.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Someone replaced her gas and break pedals with friggin banana peels.” Dean's fuming – the Impala is a no-fly zone; someone or something has crossed a serious line. “How do you even _do_ that?”

 

“Let's get some breakfast, Dean. You work better when you're fed.” Cas puts a hand on Dean's shoulder and leads him away from the car. They walk down the street towards the nearest diner. Of course, their Republican neighbor is sitting outside on her porch. Her eyes narrow when she sees them.

 

“The sight of her makes me want to do obnoxiously gay things,” Dean comments. He seems to have calmed down a bit with the promise of food on the horizon.

 

“I agree,” Cas says. Cas shoots her a smile that's fake as hell, and Dean can't help but laugh. The woman does nothing but scowl, completely disregarding Cas' courtesy. Unable to contain himself, Dean stops them both and kisses Cas. Cas plays along, playfully nipping at Dean's lower lip in a way that is obvious enough that she can surely see it from where she sits. They consider it a success when the woman goes inside.

 

“I bet she moves out in two months, tops,” Dean says.

 

“Let's hope.”

 

*

 

They have a tried and true diner about five blocks from where they live, and it's come in handy on more than one occasion. It's not one of the greasy roadside ones Dean's gotten accustomed to in all his years on the road – it's a good, quality diner with mouth-watering food. Dean's said again and the again that the place should be five star. New Jersey's famous for its diners, and their section of Pennsylvania is just close enough to absorb a few of them.

 

By now the staff all know them by name, know their drink orders and can usually guess what they want to eat given the time of day. The waitress who greets them this morning is named Natalie. She's a tall, busty brunette with a million dollar smile and a bubbly personality that gets just about all of her customers smiling. About a year ago, Dean would have been all over that... but he's got Cas, now, and the thought only barely crossed his mind once. Natalie's completely enamored of Cas and Dean, always calls them the “world's cutest couple”, stuff like that. Dean pretends to be exasperated, but he usually can't fight the goofy smile her compliments bring about.

 

She looks tired when they walk in, but her expression brightens like the sun coming up when she catches sight of the two of them. She seems to catch herself, though, and quickly assumes a solemn face.

 

“I'm sorry, we're closed,” she says, obviously fighting the smile twitched at the edges of her lips.

 

“Uh huh. Is that so?” Dean say elbowing Cas and winking. Cas frowns.

 

“I don't understand. If the diner is closed, why are you here?”

 

“... _Cas_ ,” Dean says, pressing a palm to his face.

 

“April Fool's!” she blurts out, giggling, “Oh, Castiel, you are too cute! And Dean, the way you... oh gosh, you guys. Cutest couple ever.” She shows them to their seats, handing them their menus.

 

“One black coffee and one tea with two creams and no sugar?” she asks right off the bat. Dean and Cas nod their assent. “Are you ready to order or do you want to – ”

 

“Yeah, I am. I'll take the double bacon cheeseburger, with – ”

 

“Ketchup, no mustard and extra pickles, gotcha. Castiel?”

 

“My usual salad, thank you.”

 

“Back in a few!” she chirps, bounding off. She returns with their drinks a few moments later and promises their food won't be long.

 

Dean sips his coffee pensively, staring into its murky blackness every time he places it down. Cas is staring out the window, brow furrowed the way it always is when he's deep in thought. Dean starts to say something when his phone rings. His ringtone is still the Dropkick Murpheys from St. Patrick's Day. He makes a mental note to change it. He checks the caller, flips open the phone and answers.

 

“Sammy?”

 

“Very funny, Dean,” his little brother hisses the voice on the other end. Dean's eyebrows raise and he shoots Cas a look, who quickly leans forward to listen.

 

“What's funny?”

 

“Right. Like you don't know why my hair is friggin _purple_ right now, in Niagara Falls of all places. Jesus Christ, Dean, you need to grow up. I'm here with my fiancee -”

 

“Sammy – Sam. Shut up, dude, I didn't do it. Did you, y'know, think of asking said fiancee?”

 

“Of course I did. Like, all morning. She didn't do it, Dean. Which leaves the only other culprit being _you_. You are such a dick.”

 

“... Is your hair seriously purple right now?”

 

“ _Yes,_ ” Sam all but screeches. Dean bursts into laughter, picturing Sam's long and luscious locks tinged bright purple. He laughs til his sides hurt and tears are forming at his eyes. It takes him a moment to collect himself.

 

Sam clears his throat. “Are you done?”

 

“God, Sammy, what I'd give for that to have been my prank. But, uh, for being Mr. Logic you seem to have forgotten that you are literally in another country right now.”

 

“Yeah... well, I figured you might have...”

 

Dean rolls his eyes.

 

“You figured you'd call me up and I'd tell you some miraculous way I dyed your hair from miles and miles away because I'm arrogant as hell and would want to share my master plan, I'm guessing.”

 

Sam heaves a sigh. “Pretty much.”

 

“Hate to burst your bubble, but it wasn't me. Cas can testify.”

 

Sam is quiet a moment. When he speaks again, his voice sounds uncertain.

 

“Dean... if you didn't prank me, who did?”

 

Dean sucks in a breath, recognition dawning through him. “Whoever's been pranking me and Cas, I bet.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“We think it's something supernatural. We're treating it like a case, we'll figure it out. Keep your eyes peeled for headlines or people talking about the same kind of shit and call us if you hear anything. But don't, like, stress. We're all over this.” He flashes a small smile at Cas, who returns in. The waitress arrives with their food and catches their quiet smile exchange and seems to glow with pleasure. She walks away silently when she sees that Dean's on the phone.

 

“Alright...” Sam says hesitantly. “Call me if you need any help, okay?”

 

“Right, Mr. Canada, because you could totally help from there.” Dean doesn't need to see his brother to know that he's bitch-facing.

 

“Whatever. Keep me posted. See ya.

 

“Bye.”

 

Dean shuts the phone and frowns at it. He meets Cas' eyes and they exchange a concerned look.

 

“Well, it's all over the place, apparently,” Dean says unnecessarily as he draws his sandwich to his mouth. Cas is contemplative, quiet, apparently searching his mind for anything capable of this kind of widespread mayhem.

 

“We'll check the local newspapers when we're done eating,” Cas says decisively as Dean spits out his food and drops his sandwich.

 

“What the _fuck_?” Dean exclaims for the second time today. Cas' concern is evident; he pulls Dean's plate away from him like the burger might jump up and bite him.

 

“Dean?”

 

“My goddamn pickles are made of plastic,” Dean says, glowering at the offending sandwich.

 

Cas absently sticks a fork in his salad – and is surprised the find that his fork won't get a grip on it; his tomatoes are plastic, too.

 

“Perhaps it wishes to starve us,” Cas says thoughtfully, as though analyzing something in a test tube and not some unseen force screwing with their lives. Dean places his forehead on the table.

 

“This is so not cool,” he groans. Cas' hand twitches on the table, hesitant, before brushing through Dean's hair. He seems to think better of it a second later because he moves his hand quickly. Dean holds it, though, resting their hands on the table and lacing their fingers together.

 

“I'm hungry,” Dean whines. Cas sighs. Dean's eyes are closed against the table, but he can hear Cas picking through his sandwich.

 

“You can eat it, Dean. Just take off the pickles. The rest seems to be real.”

 

Dean looks up. “How do you know?”

 

Cas picks up the burger and bites it before Dean can protest, swallows it and waits a second. He nods affirmatively.

 

“It's fine.”

 

“What the hell, Cas? What if it _wasn't_? You don't have angel mojo anymore, you can't just do reckless shit like that.”

 

“Dean, it's fine. Nothing happened.”

 

Dean knows he's being irrationally angry, but for some reason this brazen act of potential food poisoning has really gotten under his skin. He glares at Cas, who tilts his head in confusion.

 

“What's wrong with you, man? Jesus.”

 

Cas' confusion slowly melts into a glare of his own. He sits back in his seat and looks out the window, scowling. Dean eats his burger only because he's hungry; he's almost too annoyed to finish it. Cas' salad lies untouched on his plate. It's not until Dean's halfway done that he realizes with a pang that Cas isn't eating because he doesn't want to piss Dean off by trying it.

 

Dean takes Cas' fork and pushes the tomatoes off the plate and then gets a big forkful of salad. He's never been a big salad fan, but this one tastes fine and about as good as a salad can taste. Certainly not poisoned or anything. Cas is still looking out the window, apparently ignorant of what Dean's doing.

 

“Uh – you can eat, Cas. It's fine, I checked it.”

 

“That was reckless,” Cas snaps. He looks away from the window and _holy shit_ , Dean remembers again that the guy before him was once an Angel of the Lord. Between the sweaters, the baking and the festive aprons, sometimes Dean forgets what an insanely powerful, cosmic being his sort-of-boyfriend once was.

 

“Shit, Cas. Point taken. Eat, okay?”

 

Cas doesn't budge, and Dean realizes that this is an Apology Moment. He hates those.

 

“ 'm sorry, Cas,” he mutters. Most people probably wouldn't have even been able to hear him, let alone accept the half-assed apology, but Cas has always been gracious and patient with Dean. He doesn't acknowledge Dean's said anything, but he does start eating again. Dean takes this as a good sign.

 

“So,” Dean says after a while of extremely awkward silence, “what kind of monster has this kind of juice?”

 

“We can rule out anything without a sense of humor,” Cas says seriously. Dean laughs.

 

“I guess it's not you, then.”

 

Cas seems to think this over and then a small smile etches at his lips. Dean's irrationally proud that Cas got the joke. Dean touches Cas' foot with his own, affectionately, which apparently startles Cas. Dean grins and does it again, but then realizes the concept of _footsies_ is probably lost to angels. Dean stops and rushes on before Cas can embarrass the hell out of him by asking what he's doing.

 

“I'm thinking fairies,” Dean says, and shudders. “Friggin hate fairies.”

 

Cas nods slowly. “That seems to be one of he only possible culprits. But why? It does seem like a great effort.”

 

Natalie comes and asks if they'd like dessert. Cas responds that no, they wouldn't, before Dean has a chance to protest. This diner has the best apple pie he's ever had (second only to his mom and Cas'). He knows Cas is right, though, knows there's no point in gambling with the possibility that something else will be messed with. Natalie gives them the bill and Dean sulks.

 

“I'll make you pie tonight, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean brightens a bit.

 

“Once we catch these son of a bitches and put them out of commission,” Dean says, putting his game face on. Cas nods reassuringly.

 

“We will gank those bitches,” Cas says, monotone as ever, and Dean laughs so hard he loses his breath and tears up.

 

“Don't ever change, Cas.”

 

*

 

Turns out that the news is unnervingly devoid of fairy activity – or anything out of the ordinary, for that matter. Newspapers, tv, internet... everything is clean. Dean, on the way to the convenience store to get aforesaid newspaper, manages to nearly fall into a manhole that he _swears_ was concrete a second ago. Cas ends up soaked in water, inexplicably; _he_ swears that it started raining abruptly, despite the fact that Dean and everyone around them are completely dry. By the time they get home, they're exhausted and irritable. The living room covered in wrapping paper only adds insult to injury, and they spend a few minutes unwrapping the couch. The rest will be done later, once their mutual irritation subsides.

 

“So maybe it's not fairies,” Dean concedes as he sinks into the couch. Behind him, Dean hears their drawers opening as Cas rummages through them to get dry clothes. Dean hears wet clothes hit the floor and he shudders. He knows Cas is only venturing to change in the same room as Cas because he knows that Dean's back is turned. Despite their St. Patrick's day hookup, Cas is still frustratingly modest. It seems alcohol influenced him far beyond the point of inhibition, because Cas is still awkward as hell when sober.

 

“We're back to square one, then,” Cas says, and Dean hears pants being tugged on. He sucks in a breath, realizing a little bitterly that all he managed to see of Cas that night was his bare chest. He's anxious to see the rest... but of course, like everything else in their sort-of-relationship, he has no idea where to start. So, like everything else, he just _doesn't_.

 

“Maybe it's a cursed object?” Dean suggests. Cas comes to sit beside him on the couch, sinking into it and leaning slightly against Dean. Dean is immediately distracted at the sight of Cas in one of his t-shirts, a blue one that makes the color of his eyes pop. Cas notices Dean looking and looks away, plucking absently at a loose thread on the couch.

 

“We woke up with our house covered in wrapping paper,” Cas points out, “I don't see how we could have touched a cursed object in our sleep.”

 

Dean frowns, looks at Cas with intent at snapping at him because the guy is so goddamn perceptive that it's not fair... but again, the t-shirt distracts him. Instead, he puts a hand under Cas' chin and looks him in the eyes, a small smirk forming on his lips.

 

“Like it when you wear my clothes,” he murmurs, bringing his lips close the Cas'. Cas looks away, clears his throat.

 

“Focus, Dean. We need to figure this out.”

 

Dean groans and sits back against the couch, cursing himself for his ill-timing and cursing his angel for being so on-task. Rigidity of a soldier, Dean figures. It comes in handy sometimes, but not in this case.

 

“Well shit, Cas, I have no idea. A few years ago I would have said it was a trickster, but I know better now.”

 

Cas nods.

 

“I was thinking the same thing.”

 

Cas rests his head on Dean's shoulder, snuggling close, and Dean's heart skips a beat the same way it always does when Cas invades his personal space. He thinks briefly of how far they've come so quickly, of Christmas and his anxiety over the butterflies in his chest. Now he accepts them graciously,  now that he knows that they're mutual. Now he can kiss Cas, if he wants to. He can kiss can _whenever_ he wants to.

 

“Perhaps if we just stayed here all day,” Cas says abjectly, sighing softly, “didn't move, perhaps we could just... wait it out.”

 

“Wait it out?”

 

“I think it may only be an April Fool's Day thing. And it doesn't seem to be affecting anyone but us. So maybe if we just...” Cas gestures to the couch, and Dean gets the picture. It sounds like a good enough plan to him, so he wraps an arm around Cas and tugs him even closer, pulling him til he's sitting on Dean's lap. Cas makes a quiet noise of contentment and settles in, tucking his face under Dean's neck. The stubble on Cas' face feels prickly against Dean's skin. It's kind of weird, having this big badass former-angel snuggled up with him like a cat. Not that Dean's complaining.

 

“I am _so_ okay with this,” Dean says contentedly, pressing a kiss to Cas' hair. He's debating whether he should go for his ear, whether he should press a kiss along the soft skin just behind it, maybe initiate something... but he falters. He know he promised Cas they'd – _ahem_ – at some point, but he can't bring himself to do it. He sort of wishes Cas would initiate it, but he knows that his angel is far too ignorant of humanity and its intricacies to even have the slightest clue where to begin.

 

… But then again, neither does Dean.

 

Just as Dean's starting to feel himself nod off into the makings of what will probably be an awesome nap, a loud, explosive laugh echoes through their living room, its source unknown. Cas sits up immediately, one hand clutching protectively around Dean's bicep, hand gripping firmly around the hand print he left so long ago. Dean is reminded of once, when they trapped Raphael in a ring of holy fire, the wrathful archangel had made the windows explode in a shatter of glass. Cas' immediate reaction, knee-jerk and without a moment's contemplation, was to cover Dean with his body and yank him out of the way. Dean hadn't thought much of it then, but now, seeing that same instantaneous reaction to protect Dean, Dean's a little awed by it. The guy has zero angel mojo but is still acting like a guardian, Dean's guardian. It's... nice.

 

Despite the little surge of warmth this tiny gesture brought about, the more pressing matter is, _hello_ , inexplicable and fucking creepy laughter resonating through their flat. Dean checks his breath, but there's no cloud of cold air; he sniffs around, but there's no scent of sulfur. That rules out ghosts and demons – so what the hell is this?

 

Castiel is tense, a statue, eyes darting around the room. Neither of them speak for quite some time, shaken in the silence following the startling laughter. Finally, Castiel speaks.

 

“... Gabriel?”

 

Dean gives Cas an incredulous look. He's pretty sure angels can't have ghosts. If they could, he, Cas, Sam, Bobby – they'd all be screwed by now. There are probably a million clever ways of killing them that wrathful angel spirits could come up with. Now, though, Dean's not so certain.

 

“Cas?” he whispers, but Cas doesn't seem to hear him. He's still looking around the room, desperately trying to find the owner of the phantom laughter. Another tense minute goes by, and then the sudden, unmistakable whoosh of wings announces the presence of an angel. A real, living, not-ghost angel.

 

“I was wondering when you two lovebirds would figure it out,” the angel says with a cocky smirk that goes ear to ear. It _is_ Gabriel. Inexplicably, impossibly. For the first time today, Dean wonders if he's having some sort of really, really trippy dream. He's pretty sure if Cas wasn't sitting on his and gripping his arm, he'd have fallen out of his seat or something.

 

“What the hell?” Dean says at the same time Cas says, “ _Explain_.” Gabe's amusement only amplifies. He takes a seat next to Dean and Cas, getting all up in their personal space intentionally, just to bother Dean. Cas is looking at Gabriel like he's seen a ghost – which, yeah, makes sense.

 

“Sam brought me back,” Gabriel says simply, grin somehow widening even more at the matching looks of shock and confusion on Cas and Dean's face.

 

“Aren't you two just as cute as a button?” Gabe says, reaching up and pinching Cas' cheek. Cas makes a face and Dean has to concede that Cas really is _that_ cute. But now's not the time to comment.

 

“What the hell do you mean?” Dean growls, just about fed up with Gabriel's characteristic evasiveness. “Better question – give me one reason I shouldn't gank your ass, because there is no reason you should be alive right now.”

 

Cas maintains his composure, but Dean notices a split-second of panic in his eyes that almost makes him regret the threat. Gabriel throws up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

 

“Jeesh, can't take a joke, can you? Fine, I'll explain. Basically, God's got a thing for you Winchesters – and you, Cas. For whatever reason, you're like his pets or something. He's brought you back more times than I can count, Cassie. Anyway, for whatever reason Senor Moose gets the idea of praying for me to come back. Something about Cas being an angstbucket about April Fool's Day. Jesus, Dean, your brother should write Hallmark cards. I think the exact words were ' _everyone deserves a big brother_ '. So sweet. Anyway, God seemed to deem it a fair enough request, so here I am.”

 

Castiel's eyes go wide and his mouth falls open slightly. Dean's still skeptical, but the story does seem plausible. Gabriel's right – Cas has been brought back from the dead more than once. Would it really be that impossible for Gabriel to come back, too?

 

“Father brought you back, for me?” Cas whispers. Dean's always liked the way Cas' voice sounds when he's whispering; the gravelly tone his voice mixed with the low volume gives Dean chills in the best sort of way.

 

…. Not the best thing to be experiencing while Gabriel's here, though.

 

“Yes, dumbass. Like it or not, the Big Guy loves you.”

 

Cas' face isn't too expressive – it never is – but his eyes say it all. If he was the hugging sort, he probably would have lunged himself at his big brother by now, given the intensity in his eyes. This doesn't redeem God in Dean's eyes, not by a long shot... but it's something. If, y'know, Gabriel's telling the truth.

 

“So you've been pranking us all day,” Dean says flatly.

 

“Wouldn't be April Fool's Day without that, would it?” Gabriel says, maintaining his cheesy grin.

 

“And Sam's purple hair?”

 

“Guilty. Though taking all his left shoes was my personal favorite. He's having a Black Rock moment. He's currently trying to find a rabbit foot in the hotel he's staying at.”

 

“Y'know, most people just _call_ when they're in town.”

 

“That would have been so anticlimactic, Dean-o. By the way, do you guys have any candy?”

 

“We have – ” Cas starts, but Dean clamps a hand over his mouth.

 

“Fix all our shit and you can have our candy,” Dean says firmly. Gabriel rolls his eyes, muttering _killjoy_ under his breath before he snaps his fingers. The wrapping paper disappears from every surface.

 

“We've got Reese's in the cupboard in the kitchen,” Dean says, and Gabriel saunters over to the kitchen. Dean and Cas exchange looks.

 

“It's him,” Cas says immediately, meeting Dean's eyes head-on, anticipating Dean's skeptiscm. Dean raises his eyes.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because... I just _know_ , Dean. I know my brother.”

 

Dean can't really protest that, because he knows the feeling. He knows Sam inside and out, could spot an imposter from even the slightest detail. If there's anything Dean gets, it's weird brother connections.

 

“I didn't even know you two were close,” Dean says, voicing what he'd been thinking ever since Cas delivered the No-April-Fool's ultimatum. He'd refrained from asking before because he figured it'd be kind of rude, considering the guy was dead and all.

 

“I have... _had_ many brothers. We functioned like an army, there was little room for the kind of camaraderie you're picturing. But... Gabriel was the only one who ever veered from what was expected. I think I always quietly admired him for it. I am one of the youngest of my brothers, so he liked to pick on me...”

 

“And somehow taunting translates into Brother of the Year?”

 

“Dean, you have to understand. Special attention is all but unheard of in the garrisons. Everyone is equal to the point that we are almost nonentities. To have another angel – an archangel, at that – acknowledge me personally, enough to harass me... he was easily my favorite.”

 

Dean nods, slowly understanding. Gabriel inadvertently made Cas feel special by messing with him all the time. In a place where feeling special doesn't really happen, it's easy to see why Cas looks up to Gabriel so much, why he grieved his death as he did. Dean smiles, running a hand through Cas' hair.

 

“Hmm, should I start taunting you, too?” he says playfully.

 

“You're already my favourite human, Dean,” Cas says seriously, not catching the humor in Dean's tone, “there's nothing you could do to earn it any more than you have.”

 

Dean's caught off guard by this brazen honesty. It's not uncharacteristic of Cas to say intense things casually, mostly because the guy has no concept of what's intense or not, but Dean's always stunned nevertheless. He gives an awkward laugh.

 

“Good to know.”

 

“Where's the rest?” Gabriel calls from the kitchen, indicating that he's gone through their store of candy.

 

“I – I could bake pie,” Cas calls back, sheepishly. He and Dean get up and walk to the kitchen, unwilling to leave Gabriel unattended in their kitchen for very long. Gabriel's smirk is back, directed at Cas.

 

“You _bake_ ,” he says, obviously holding back raucous laughter.

 

Cas looks at the ground. “Yes.”

 

“My, how the mighty have fallen,” Gabriel says, but his tone is light and playful. “Dean, you've made my little brother into a housewife.”

 

“Hey, he makes damn good pie and his brownies are fucking awesome,” Dean says defensively, not liking the implications of what Gabriel's saying. Maybe it's the whole diving-into-hell-for-him thing, but Dean's always quick to defend Cas' BAMF status. The guy scares the shit out of him sometimes.

 

“Hey, whatever floats your boat. And I can't say I'm not gonna benefit from it. Brownies sound perfect, Cas.”

 

Cas nods and sets about getting out ingredients. His back is to Dean, but Dean can see through Cas' (subtle, _subtle_ ) body language that he's exuding happiness. And while Gabriel's getting on his last nerve already, he can't help but love the guy for making his angel so happy.

 

“So are you banging my little brother?” Gabriel asks conversationally as Cas stirs ingredients. Dean blanches and Cas freezes mid-stir.

 

“Uh. No.”

 

Gabriel looks instantly indignant.

 

“Yeah? And why _not_? He not good enough for you? Or are you getting it somewhere _else_ , because let me tell you something, Winchester, if you think you can just -”

 

“Easy, firecracker! I'm not sleeping with anyone, okay? Christ.” Dean's bright red at this point, looking everywhere but at Gabriel. Cas starts stirring again, slowly, but Dean knows Cas is probably blushing crimson himself.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “If you're waiting for marriage, I gotta tell you, I-”

“We are so not having this conversation,” Dean cuts off, glowering something awful.

 

“Oh yes we are. Why aren't you fucking my brother, Dean? Are you having like a gay crisis or something?”

 

“Dude. No. I've always liked guys, too – Jesus Christ, I am so not having this conversation with you, get off it.”

 

Dean's wondering if he can escape to the bathroom to grab some Tylenol from the cabinet. His head is throbbing already and Gabriel's been here all of fifteen minutes.

 

“No wonder God sent me back,” Gabriel says, snickering, and Dean puts a palm to his face.

 

“Aspirin. I am getting aspirin.”

 

*

Gabe, Dean realizes, is surprisingly not that bad of a brother. The three of them are sitting in the living room, Gabe having positioned himself straight between Dean and Cas, just to piss Dean off. He asks Cas a lot of questions – how the apocalypse went down, if his sacrifice helped (and he looks relieved when Dean and Cas both vigorously say that it _did_ ), and, most startling to Dean... whether or not Cas is happy. Cas seems to be glowing quietly in the presence of his obnoxious big brother. He doesn't hesitate when Gabe asks him this.

 

“Yes. I have never been this happy before, Gabriel.” Gabe's eyebrows shoot up, surprised. Both he and Dean know that this is no small thing to say; Cas is thousands of years old. That this is the happiest point in his life, even without wings and mojo, is quite a feat.

 

“Then I'm glad,” Gabriel says. His smile is sincere, very unlike the cocky smirks that Dean is used to. The kindness in it helps Dean understand, a little, why Cas loves him so much.

“Though if you think it's good now, just wait til you experience the wonders of _sex_ ,” Gabe tags on, ruining whatever moment they might have been sharing. Cas clears his throat and Dean grabs a couch pillow and whacks Gabriel with it.

 

“Gross, man,” Dean says, “That is not the kind of shit you say to your little brother.”

 

“You were _always_ trying to get Sam laid, Dean,” Gabe points out, “I'm just being a good brother.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Dean mutters, unable to think of something to counter that.

 

The doorbell rings unexpectedly, causing Dean to jump despite himself. He flashes a look at Cas, who shrugs subtly. Gabe smiles.

 

“You should get that, Cas.”

 

Cas stands and does so, casting an uncertain glance over his shoulder as he opens the door. Gabe leans over quick, lowering his voice so only Dean can hear him.

 

“Just so you know, Dean-o, I _very strongly_ considered giving you a permanent boner for April Fool's Day. Just until you manned up and got on with it.”

 

Dean glares, facing going red with indignation and embarrassment at the very thought of it.

 

“I would punch you in the face so hard, I swear to God-”

 

“And I'm an angel, so it wouldn't matter. And I didn't do it, did I? Though the way you're talking, I might change my mind...”

 

Dean's eyes widen in panic and he holds back his hands in surrender. “Christ! Sorry. No perma-boner for me, got it? ...I'm gonna screw your brother at some point, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

 

“It's a start,” Gabe says, just as Cas comes back to sit down. He's holding a pizza and looking puzzled.

 

“We didn't order a pizza,” Cas says, frowning.

 

“I did,” Gabe says, flipping open the lid and helping himself to a slice.

Dean's pretty sure Gabe summoned up a pizza for the sole reason of getting to have his little chat alone with him, and he almost doesn't grab a slice on principle. Almost.

 

“So, what do you two do all day if you're not sleeping together?” Dean notices that Cas' face is strategically blank; he's been able to reign in the blush a lot better than Dean.

 

“We hunt monsters,” Cas says, breezing over Gabe's comment, “and volunteer at the community greenhouse a couple miles away, sometimes.”

 

Dean briefly considers smacking his angel in the head. Volunteer work is _not_ something he likes other people know about, especially not someone like Gabe. He has his rep at stake, here, for crying out loud. Still, Cas is like a kid coming home from school, eager to share the picture he's drawn... Dean can't get too mad at him for wanting to show off his life, what he's made of humanity.

 

Dean just really, really wishes it wasn't Gabriel he was sharing it with.

 

“ _Dean Winchester_ has been planting things?” Gabe says, practically giddy. Cas nods.

 

“He's has a 'green thumb',” Cas says, quoting one of the gardeners. Gabe snickers.

 

“That's adorable.”

 

“What about you, Gabe?” Dean cuts in, tone harsher than intended, “how was the whole 'being dead' thing?”

 

Gabriel shrugs. “Dark. I think.”

 

“You think?”  
  


“Yeah, I wish I remembered the juicy details of whatever's behind the veil for angels, but I don't. Not that it matters, since neither of you are angels.”

 

Cas squirms at this, which makes Dean wish he hadn't brought it up. Outside, he sees the sun setting. He sighs, dreading the inevitable but willing to push forward.

 

“So, uh,” Dean says awkwardly, “Are you, y'know, crashing here?” He's more than a little afraid that Gabe's going to take up permanent residence with them or something, but thankfully Gabriel shakes his head.

 

“Nah, I'm not that much of a cockblock. I've got places to go, people to prank. The night is still young. Plus, there's a certain younger Winchester I'd like to thank for the whole resurrection thing.”

 

“Do you have any other pranks planned for him?” Dean asks, grinning despite himself.

 

“I think the moose I sent was prank enough. That and the fact that he still thinks he's hunting a renegade leprechaun. I'll be in touch.”

 

“... moose?” Dean asks, but there's a whoosh of wings and then Gabe's gone. The asshole made sure he turned off all the lights and lit the candles as he went, sending a clear message. Cas and Dean stand awkwardly, silently in the darkness for a minute before Dean clears his throat.

 

“Your brother is about as subtle as an elephant in a tutu, man,” Dean says, walking over and turning on the lights. Cas is still staring at the spot where Gabe had been standing, a fond smile etched at the edges of his lips. Dean's heart goes all light at the sight of it; he's still pretty damn in love with Cas' smile, even though he sees it much more often now.

 

“But, God...” Cas words trail off, but the rest of the sentences doesn't need to be spoken – _doesn't exist_. Dean crosses the space between them, putting his arms around Cas' neck and looking into his eyes.

 

“Hey, does it matter? We don't even know for sure if it was God, dude. I mean, you came back a couple times and there was never a 'you're welcome' sticky note attached. Maybe... maybe good things just happen.” Dean is surprised by his own words, because they remind him of something Cas told him when they first met: _Good things_ do _happen, Dean._

 

Cas nods, looking comforted by Dean's words. Dean can tell Cas isn't really ready to tackle his beliefs or disbeliefs on God, or ready to broach his bitterness and sense of abandonment. Right now it's best to focus on the inexplicable gift of getting his brother back and not think about the implications. If anyone knows about good, healthy repression, it's Dean.

 

“He sure is persistent, isn't he?” Cas asks fondly, looking at the candles. Dean nods, kisses Cas gently on the nose. Cas smiles and Dean smiles back, both of them looking smitten and, admittedly, cheesy as hell.

 

“Your brother may be a dick,” Dean says, “but – best April Fool's Day ever, huh?”

 

Cas nods.

 

“By far.”

 

“Next time I see him, I'm kicking him in the face for messing with the Impala,” Dean adds, gruffly. Cas laughs.

 

It's then that Dean remembers that Cas is still wearing his shirt and it still makes his eyes look impossibly bluer than usual. He clears his throat, tries to shake his thoughts, but as long as he's looking into Cas' eyes like this, he can't. One of his arms finds its way around Cas' waist, tugging him tight. Cas catches his breath, tilts his head and looks at Dean curiously.

 

“How 'bout I kiss you like I did on the speedline,” Dean says, voice low, and heated, “but without alcohol, this time?”

 

Cas responds by kissing Dean himself, mouth eager but endearingly hesitant. He's much more inhibited when sober, and somehow it's better this way – more like Cas, a comfortable sort of uncomfortable. Dean deepens the kiss, feeling Cas melt against him like butter. His hand strays to the hem of Cas' shirt as he debates what pace he should be taking this with. Just as he's deciding it couldn't hurt to slip his hand under the shirt, feel his angle shudder under his touch, there's a loud popping noise and then... a shower of confetti.

 

A piece of paper with writing on it floats down with the confetti, whose source is impossible to determine and therefore probably not human-made. Dean grabs it, scowling. Gabriel's messy handwriting is on it, two words that make Dean's blood boil and his face hot. The paper reads,  _Atta boy!_ With a little winking smiley face and all.

 

Dean and Cas stare at the mess and then at each other, both of them looking equally sheepish.

 

“Maybe we should...” Cas begins.

 

“... Watch a movie?” Dean offers.

 

Cas looks visibly relieved and Dean can't help but feel the same. His nerves are shot and his pulse is racing – two sensations that do not sit well together. They curl up on the couch with a blanket, legs entwined, some movie in that neither of them paid attention to while picking. The lights are off, save for the multitude of candles, and the atmosphere is quiet and nice. Dean thinks that if he leaned over and kissed Cas in _just_ the right way, he could initiate something...

 

… but he doesn't. Instead, he lets Cas tug him close, chest to chest, buries his face into Cas' neck. The kisses he leaves along the skin there are innocent.

 

“Next year we will prank Gabriel,” Cas says with a yawn, carding a hand through Dean's hair.

 

“Hell yeah. Now _that_ is gonna be the best April Fool's Day ever.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
